


With the thousandth colour of a flower

by uumuu



Series: Hanazakari [3]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Come Swallowing, Father/Son Incest, Flowers, Fluff, Hair Braiding, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-10
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-02-20 15:09:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2433239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uumuu/pseuds/uumuu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of random one-shots centering on Fëanor/Maedhros, and flowers (some SFW some NSFW).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wildflowers (SFW)

“But where are you taking me?”

“I told you, I want you to see something beautiful.”

Maitimo tugs at his father's hand, and drags him half-unwilling down the road under the puzzled glances of a couple of neighbours.

After a while they cross, and slip between the houses on the opposite side, then cross one more street and turn left onto a narrow path which winds through the hazel forest surrounding the small village. 

“Isn't this the river path?”

Maitimo sighs in exasperation. “Yes, it is.”

“What's there to see by the river?”

“Won't you trust me?”

Fëanáro frowns. “I'm busy, and you know I don't like unexplained -”

“Trust me.” 

Well-practiced persistence lends Maitimo's voice enough firmness that his father doesn't protest again during the rest of the walk. And it's not short – it takes well over half an hour to cross the forest.

“Here we are.”

They leave the trees behind, but huge dog rose shrubs still block the view of the river. Maitimo leads his father around them, and finally they emerge on the riverbank.

Fëanáro stops in his tracks, looks up and down the river, and beyond it, and gapes.

“See? I told you it'd be worth it.”

Golden light bathes the scene, and seems brighter there than elsewhere in the area, reverberating off the green of the grass and the varied hues of flowers. The field on the other side of the river is pure yellow, the carpet of dandelions stretching all the way to the twin lines of tall pine trees that flank the main road from Tirion.

“This is splendid. How did you -”

Maitimo smiles. The flower field is a small wonder, and not too exceptional, but one he knows holds a fond charm for his father, and for himself, since they first made love, many many years before, in such a field, though it was poppy-red, and much closer to Tirion. “Tyelcormo mentioned it yesterday, I came to take a look this morning, and thought you might be happy to see it too.”

Fëanáro silently chides himself for not wanting to go with his son at first, and lifts the hand still twined with Maitimo's to kiss the back of it. Then he gently disentangles it and sits down at the top of the riverbank. Its curve is rather steep compared with the gentle slope they had just descended – as if the hill had plunged its feet in the water then lounged back. 

He doesn't notice that Maitimo walks away, completely immersed in his contemplation, and the memories it evokes, and oblivious to anything else until his son sits down next to him and sticks a flower under his nose.

“Bedstraw?”

“There's plenty over there. And there are weird cyclamens.” Maitimo shows his father a white one with silver-streaked petals.

“What's that?”

“This?” Maitimo lifts a tall flower with a light purple head. “I don't know.”

Fëanáro takes it and studies it closely. It looks like a thistle at first glance, but it's in fact noticeably different, starting from the fact that it has no thorns. “Interesting”. He peers at the small bunch Maitimo is holding, and can't help wondering why that spot is so rich in vegetation. He doesn't dwell on it for long, though, because an idea suddenly strikes him. His eyes gleam impishly. “Let's play a game.”

“A game?”

Fëanáro stands up. “Yes, the one who manages to pluck the largest variety of flowers wins.”

“Wins what?”

“We'll see,” Fëanáro smirks, and Maitimo nods to the challenge.

They dart off in opposite directions, and dive into the grass and the scattered shrubs to dig out the most hidden treasures they have to offer. 

Golden and silver light begin to mix when Maitimo looks up and doesn't see his father. 

“Tatanya?”

There's no answer. He glances at the forest but senses no movement there; he hopes his father has not lost himself in the hunt and wandered too far up the river. He starts striding in that direction but doesn't have to go very far. Fëanáro is lying on the riverbank, among red campions and tiny daisies, asleep. 

Maitimo shakes his head amusedly, and carefully descends the steep curve. He kneels down next to his father, and for a while contemplates his face. It's rare to see him so carefree, so at peace, therefore he sits back, crosslegged, and reaches out to caress his cheeks and stroke the black hair fanned out on the grass. The flowers Fëanáro has plucked are scattered to his right. They're definitely fewer than the ones Maitimo holds in his left hand. He chuckles and stretches out his arm, opening his hand to let them fall down and mix.

The sky soon turns into a black slate studded with white (they're far up north and the trees are distant enough that the stars are much brighter than Telperion's diluted light) and Maitimo reluctantly bends to place a kiss on his father's lips, gently tickling his lips with his tongue.

Fëanáro squeezes his eyes then opens them. He looks up at Maitimo, flustered, and slowly sits up. 

“Time to go home. I won.”

“What?”

Maitimo points at the flowers. 

“Oh, sorry I -”

“No reason to be.You needed the rest, evidently.” Maitimo helps his father to straighten his clothes and his hair, taking out the grass blades and petals stuck in it. “...we can come back tomorrow, with the others. Up now.” He grabs his father's left hand and stands up, forcing him to follow.

“Wait. Let me take some specime -”

“You can do that tomorrow.”

Fëanáro tries to crouch down, but Maitimo holds him back.

“If you don't come along I'm going to _carry_ you.”

“What about the flowers you plucked, I thought you were interested in them?”

“Interested, yes.” Maitimo shakes his head and lets go of his father's hand, cupping his face instead and bending down. “You should know...flowers always make me think of _you_.”


	2. Lily (NSFW)

“Nelyo...please!”

“Please what, Daddy?” 

The endearment, the false guilelessness of it, was a further provocation Fëanáro didn't need, given the inconvenient position he was in. He gritted his teeth, and once again tried to get Maitimo to move, or toss him from off his back, with no better results than his previous attempts. He couldn't exert much strength, pressed down onto the table with his ass high up and Maitimo's cock lodged all the way inside him.

“I'm this close to shoving my balls too inside you and you still try that?” Maitimo teased. “Stubborn, as usual.”

“Do something then!”

“I'm doing excatly what I wanted to do...and with your full cooperation.”

Fëanáro grumbled. It was not that he minded having his son inside him, of course. He involuntarily tried to push his ass back again, and heard Maitimo snicker softly in his ear. 

“Need I remind you that we're in the accursed Lambengolmor?”

“I know. And?”

And half the Loremasters currently in attendance knew they were in that room, and the door was unlocked.

“You've been neglecting me lately.” Maitimo finally straightened and took hold of his father's hips. “That's not my fault.”

Fëanáro shifted his grip on the far end of the table, trying to adjust his stance as much as the restraint of his own pants around his knees allowed. 

“We did it five days ago.”

“And I've barely seen you since.” 

“I've been bus -”

Maitimo quickly withdrew until only the head of his cock was still inside and slammed back in.

“You didn't even notice I've been stalking you.” 

Fëanáro couldn't deny he hadn't. He had been too absorbed in his study of a nagging lexical quibble that had prompted him to seek the other Loremasters for the first time in years. But he had immediately realised Maitimo's intention when he had swaggered into the building that housed the institution carrying a bunch of flowers as an excuse, and with an unmistakable glitter in his eyes. If he had been at all capable of resisting his son, he should have simply avoided ending up in that out-of-the-way room alone with him. 

The lilies now lay disorderly next to him on the table, and their rich scent tickled his nostrils as his son's touch did the rest of his body. 

Maitimo withdrew again, and stayed still, barely inside. 

Fëanáro snorted in exasperation. “...move! Let's get it over with-..ah.”

Maitimo obliged. 

“For now. Then we'll go home and I'll tie you to the bed to have my way with you for as long as I wish.”

“You- can't-...!” 

“Stop me.” 

Fëanáro had to clench his jaw shut not to groan out as Maitimo began fucking him in earnest, succumbing to the sweet friction that stimulated his passage. His eyes closed when Maitimo hit his prostate, reopened, and closed again when a vicious thrust had his thighs smack painfully against the edge of the table.

He wouldn't really have cared if someone had opened the door right in front of him and seen him like that, doubled over to his son's enjoyment – or only insofar as they had no right to witness the beauty of their union.

It didn't take long for Maitimo to reach fulfilment. His craving had been honed to blade-sheer sharpness as he tailed and observed Fëanáro, waiting for the occasion to reclaim him, and he didn't want to push their luck too much.

He bent, covered his father's body with his own again, and purred in his ear. “Will you hold it in until we get home?” 

Fëanáro wordlessly assented. His own cock was so hard it hurt.

Maitimo smiled, thrust once, twice more, and came. Normally, he would have bit down on his father's neck as he did, and thus marked him. Now he could only grunt 'mine'.

Fëanáro welcomed the final crest of pleasure in him together with his seed. 

“Mine.”


	3. Dahlia (NSFW)

It was late afternoon, and every window in Maitimo's bedroom was open, the curtains pulled aside to let in as much light as possible. 

Fëanáro was twisting his son's coppery tresses into braids and tying the braids into intricate knots, in preparation for the feast – a grand event, grander than others of its kind – for his hundredth begetting day. 

A crown made of dark-burnished bronze around which were fastened glass dahlias set with opals and emeralds adorned the top of Maitimo's head. They were his most cherished flowers and their opulent crimson blossoms had been perfectly rendered by his father's skill to match his own beauty. He sat on a stool in the middle of the room, doing his best to stay still. The feathery touch of Fëanáro's work-roughened hands on his hair and his scalp sent heated shivers down his spine, and every brush of those hands against his nape, or his bare shoulders and back, crystallised his need. He didn't want to spoil his father's work, however, so he tried to content himself with watching him in the long mirror placed right in front of them.

Fëanáro's face was pursed in concentration, and remained furrowed even when, after a considerable time – Maitimo hadn't cut his hair in a while, and it reached past his knees – he secured the last knot and admired the result. 

“There. You look magnificent.”

“I always do,” Maitimo smugly countered, hiding a satisfied smile as he turned left and right to inspect the pattern the overlaid and entwined braids created in the mirror.

Fëanáro followed his gaze in the reflection, and his expression softened, tinging with fondness. “It seems yesterday you were such a tiny baby and slept on my shoulder through tedious public events.”

“...it seems yesterday I first fucked you.” 

“Oh -”

“Sorry, sorry,” Maitimo chuckled sheepishly. He hadn't meant his rejoinder to come out as crude. He grabbed his father's left hand and pulled it over his shoulder and onto his chest. “It's just...what makes me happy the most, today, is being with you, and not merely as your son...if I were to name the begetting day of my current happiness, it would be the day I confessed to you and you didn't...reject me.” His eyes could still have glazed with tears of relief at the memory, a relief which came after months of uncertainty and trepidation. 

Fëanáro slipped his other hand over his chest. Maitimo grabbed that too, holding it in his larger – if less coarse – one.

“So, what's so special about turning one-hundred?”

“Nothing, really. It's just a...conventional landmark in a person's life. But I've made sure your feast will be ten times grander than that brat Ñolofinwë's.”

“His feast was a pretty impressive one,” Maitimo remarked casually, expecting his father's rebuttal, which unfailingly came.

“He couldn't count on the same workmanship you do.”

Fëanáro had not only readied the decorations for the hall, and his jewelry, he had also embroidered a sumptuous surcoat for him. He didn't do that often. He still had much of his mother's threads left. Maitimo glanced at the garment strewn over the back of an armchair and was once again filled with pride, and gratification, to know that he could command his father's attention so utterly.

“Your presents too will be matchless.”

“I hope I'll get the only present I truly want, the only truly matchless, after this farce.”

“Ten days from now. We'll go to the lake. Cáno already knows.” 

“Ten days? That's too long,” Maitimo pouted, anticipation adding to his current excitement. The lake meant what he considered their lake. “I want a sample. Right now.”

“A sample?” Fëanáro chortled.

“You've just touched me for a good hour. The feast will last at least 10 hours and we'll be too exhausted afterwards, there'll be the complete set of relatives still to be tended to, so either you do something now or you will have to talk to Ñolofinwë with my eyes glued to your back or fucking you whenever our gazes meet.”

Fëanáro wasn't actually too bothered by the prospect. It made dealing with his half-family a lot less wearisome, to go about the hollow exchange of niceties knowing that there was someone who accounted no laws and no customs between them. 

“As if you're not going do that all the same.”

“I'll do it twice as intensely. I'm rock hard right now, at any rate, and it needs to be taken care of. Lock the door.”

Maitimo's wishes very rarely failed to be fulfilled by Fëanáro, who did as told. When he turned back from the door, Maitimo had stood up, and was stretching his long legs after the time spent sitting on the stool. Then he walked towards the bed.

“Don't you dare lie down,” Fëanáro warned.

“I know I know...though I wouldn't mind you starting to touch my head all over again.” Maitimo slipped out of his underpants, and perched on the side of the mattress. He hadn't lied about being hard. His cock arched out from his body, precome pooling against the rim of the foreskin.

Fëanáro plopped down next to him. Maitimo immediately locked his arms around his back, trapping him in a lustful kiss. Fëanáro's hand crept over his left thigh to his arousal, and coiled around it.

His fingers worked as expertly on Maitimo's erection as they had on his hair, until Maitimo was forced to let go of him for fear of hugging him too tight. He squeezed his hands around the coverlet instead, to anchor himself to the bed. He try to stay still, but couldn't entirely prevent his hips from bucking in time with his father's caresses. Every time Fëanáro's hand swung up he tried to follow it, and when it rested around his cockhead and teased his slit he squirmed in the delightful hold. The stimulation was heightened by his father's sultry smirk, flickering on his lips, and in his penetrating stare, bringing him tantalisingly close to completion, but not quite there.

Fëanáro pulled his hand away, hushing Maitimo's throaty groan with a quick kiss, and stood up, only to gracefully go down on his knees between his legs. His right hand wrapped around the root of Maitimo's shaft again, but his mouth didn't join it, dawdling to kiss and lick his belly, from the navel down to the russet curls crowning his groin. Just when it seemed it would finally descend further, it swung back up again. 

Maitimo whimpered in protest. “Dad...please.”

Fëanáro grinned. He landed a light bite to his belly, causing his chest to ripple, and drew back. He lay his hands on Maitimo's thighs, and shifted on his knees so that his head was exactly level with Maitimo's crotch. He opened his mouth. Maitimo had only to inch forward to be engulfed by wet heat. Fëanáro swirled his tongue around the girth of the organ, licking it with the flat of it, then closed his lips, and sucked. 

Maitimo gritted his teeth – though he craved the final crest of pleasure, at the same time he would have wanted it to last forever. His hands covered his father's. Blood raced in his loins, his hips jerked, and after blissful seconds – shattering seconds – he came inside Fëanáro's mouth.


End file.
